


Board Games/Leather Kittens/Sounds in Color

by Kalamos



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Dream Pack, Drugs, Gen, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalamos/pseuds/Kalamos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go fuck yourself," Ronan replies cordially. "What did you do to Jiang? He’s fucking out of it."<br/>"I didn't do anything, but maybe this did." Skov smiles and holds up a flat, bright blue pill. "It’s so rad, man. Everyone’s begging me for it. I’d say for about 85% of the maggot brains at this party I’m a god. Their fucking god, man, and they do what I want."<br/>Examining the pill, Ronan asks, "So what is it that you want? Because I want to be out of it, too."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It's all fun and games until someone goes and breaks your heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Board Games/Leather Kittens/Sounds in Color

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibuzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibuzoo/gifts).



> Prompt by ibuzoo:  
> "Sometimes, the best place to figure out who you are is someone else's house."
> 
> I wrote this when I was drunk. Don't judge. Enjoy the ride.

It’s fucking loud. People talking, thumping bass, screams. (The happy kind or the frightened? He doesn't know and he doesn't care.) Noise cleans his head, also, there will be beer and mixed drinks and pills of the undefined kind. Jiang bumps into him. "Swan fucking shoved me!" he yells to be heard over the music. Ronan boxes his shoulder as a greeting, and Jiang grins wide and drags him into the next room by the corner of his shirt. "Proko made jello shots, can you believe it? He crashed K's house and occupied the kitchen for, like, the entire afternoon! They fucking _glow_!" It's obvious Jiang has had more than just jello shots, but Ronan is content to start slow and responsible and accepts a small plastic cup filled with a frightfully green substance. (Ronan ditched trying to catch up with everyone else's level of being high when he was late to a party ages ago, after he tried just that and ended up sleeping in the trunk of someone's car - probably Swan's, because he still gives him funny looks.)

The semiannual Aglionby dorm party is a goddamn riot as far as parties in Henrietta are concerned. A bunch of rich-ass kids throw together enough money to bribe the Aglionby staff (and the cops, of course), pay DJs, buy unholy amounts of booze, get drugs (that part got _way_ better since Kavinsky is in town) and hire a cleaning service for the morning after. It’s not their usual upper class pool party, and that means everyone is going.

Except for Adam and Gansey, of course.

He downs the jello shot (that is, three of them, one in each color), then looks around, calmly absorbing his surroundings. They’re in a dorm room that functions as a bar. Outside in the common room, someone has installed strobe lights which blink in time with the beat.

"I guess they're mostly vodka," Jiang tells him. "But man, you can fucking taste every sugar crystal on your tongue. It’s magical."

Ronan supposes Jiang could go on about the jello shots for the whole night, but thankfully, the other boy gets distracted by someone walking by in a neon pink skirt.

Jiang can't take his eyes off. "Look at _that_. That’s what I call color. I mean, sometimes you see a color and it's like the rest of your life is in black and white?"

"No." Ronan grabs a beer from the counter and decides he's having whatever Jiang's having, so he just leaves him there. ("You know this color came from someone's head? Someone made a skirt and thought, yes I’m going to make it THIS color! This is the best co-... Lynch?")

 

***

 

One floor up, a sort of lounge has been created by dragging every sofa from every dorm on the floor into the hall. Some even have small tables next to them. It looks very random and very not upper class. He’s pretty sure the main allure of the whole event is pretending to be a regular high school student but without too many of the actual regular high school students.

He tries to imagine the particular regular high school student Blue in a place like this. She most definitely got invited (every girl from legal-to-fuck to thirty-something did, to even out the male-to-female ratio for all the heterosexuals out there), but he sort of _knows_ the invitation fell victim to scissors and glue and ended up as a bird on her wall. He’d bet she's playing board games with her aunt or whatever it is right now. Maybe she's playing board games with _Adam and Gansey_. Fucking _Settlers of Catan_ or something.

Maybe it's the jello shots, but he feels sick at the thought of that, which is just stupid and also pointless. So he downs the rest of his beer and makes his way past all the people occupying the sofas, most of them in various states of intoxication, towards Skov, who's perched on one of the sofas at the far end of the hall, hunched over a laptop.

"Good morning, fuckhead," Skov greets him, "about time you showed up."

"Yeah, go fuck yourself," Ronan replies cordially. "What did you do to Jiang? He’s fucking out of it."

"I didn't do anything, but maybe this did." Skov smiles and holds up a flat, bright blue pill. "It’s so rad, man. Everyone’s begging me for it. I’d say for about 85% of the maggot brains at this party I’m a god. I’m their fucking _god_ , man, and they do what I want."

"So what is it that you want? Because I want to be out of it, too."

Skov appraises him and nods, probably satisfied that Ronan hasn't wanted to know what exactly it is that will make him _out of it_. Ronan assumes that, dealing drugs for Kavinsky, Skov has met a decent quota of scared kids doing something other than weed for the first time.

"Come here," Skov pats the empty place next to him, "I think we'll just have a few shots until I decide what I want." A sly grin creeps onto his face. Ronan doesn't try to keep the amusement off his own and flops down on the sofa.

"Just a sec." Skov leans over the laptop and clicks a few things. As Ronan grabs for the bottle on the table - some sugary, probably too-sweet liqueur claiming to taste like cherries - the music in the hall changes from slow stoner pop to a fast-beat, seductive electronica. Then Skov leans back, stretches his arms and puts one around Ronan. Ronan’s phone starts ringing (GANSEY CALLING, the screen says), but he just turns it silent and puts it back into his pocket.

"So, where did you leave Dick III and that trailer boy?" Skov produces two shot glasses from the side table and holds them out for Ronan to pour the liqueur into.

Instead of getting angry, Ronan shrugs, which is what thought-drowning noise and alcohol do to him (and which he is thankful for). "I don't care, man. Playing board games or something."

"A-ha," Skov replies. "I see. Look, we're just going to try out who can down the most shots in a row, okay?"

Ronan finds himself downing two shots ( _pathetic_ ) of something that doesn't taste like cherries at all, just a goddamn lot of sugar and a hint of 'you're gonna have the worst kind of headache in the morning.'

"This is fucking disgusting."

"I know!" Skov beams, delighted. He's managed four and passes Ronan a bottle of vodka so he can chase the bad taste away.

Next, he drags one leg up in turn to lean towards Ronan more comfortably. "I’ve made up my mind. So. Look at this." He holds up the blue pill again. "How bad do you want it? Because I want to be kissed real bad right now, and you're here. Your choice."

Ronan figures he needs another gulp of vodka for this, and it's maybe a bit too much, and it’s burning all the way down his throat. It makes him feel good and alive and like nothing really matters because he doesn't really care. Hell, he could easily just take the pill from Skov, because Skov may be good at music and selling drugs and having his body plastered in tattoos, but he's shorter than Ronan and went down after one or two punches in every fight Ronan has seen him in. So maybe he's enjoying this game, too. Maybe, with the right level of wasted, Ronan wants to be kissed, too.

He leans forward, and their eyes meet, and despite the whole situation being set-up Ronan feels the tug in his stomach. That pre-kiss tug when you're about to kiss someone for the first time, and you have to fight not to hesitate because you don't want to ruin anything because you don't know if there is something to ruin yet.

His friend vodka gives him a nudge forward and like that, Ronan is kissing Skov. It's not altogether bad. Skov's lips are soft and a bit chapped, tongue carefully moving from Ronan’s lips to his tongue, accidentally touching his teeth. Skov breathes out a small laugh against Ronan’s mouth and Ronan is surprised to discover that this is _nice_ , like, actually nice. His hand grabs a fistful of Skov's hair and drags him closer, and then -

"You do make a pair of really cute lovebirds," a voice says, and Ronan doesn't need to look to know it's Kavinsky's. He draws back from Skov quickly, casting Kavinsky a displeased look.

That's when his insides do this thing where they contract like he's about to get punched and give him this weird fluttery feeling, and he realizes he's been waiting for Kavinsky to show up all evening.

"Well, you're fucking late, man, can't blame us for starting the fun without you," Skov grins wide. His hand is still tangled in Ronan’s shirt.

"Leave your hands off my toys," Kavinsky says, leans forward and kisses Skov - all-in, right on the mouth, eyes half-closed. They’ve already separated when Ronan realizes the rebuke was meant for him. It feels like drinking plain water when you expected vodka.

Kavinsky whispers something into Skov's ear which takes altogether too much physical contact for Ronan’s liking, the way Kavinsky's cheek is snuggling against Skov's, hands stroking his neck, knees touching.

"Hey, princess," Skov turns to him. "Gotta check on Jiang. See you later." Then, unexpectedly, he leans forward and presses his lips onto Ronan’s and Ronan feels a small, bitter tasting something slip into his mouth.

A punch to his shoulder and Skov's gone.

 

***

 

Ronan chases the pill with vodka. "How about you, I don't know, let them tattoo a ' _K'_ on their tongues," he says casually. "Then everyone would know whose toys they're playing with."

Kavinsky grins and lowers himself onto the sofa, only much closer than Skov. "Nice idea, Lynch. You want one too?"

Ronan snorts and doesn't dignify this with an answer. By now, the alcohol unfolds its many wonderful assets. Kavinsky's side blows, this weird feeling that might have been jealousy, the way his life feels like he's caught in a thorn hedge and moving hurts an awful lot, but _not_ moving hurts too - everything becomes a movie playing behind frosted glass, all worn corners and soft light. His body feels like it's humming softly.

"You need to loosen up, Lynch. This is a party. I mean, I appreciate your mysterious attitude, but. Have some fucking fun."

"Come and make me," Ronan replies lazily.

"Oh, I will." Kavinsky smirks.

The sofa is actually really comfortable, so Ronan closes his eyes and leans back, lets himself fall into this cloud of music and noise and alcohol and how Kavinsky is still perched next to him smoking a joint.

He can pinpoint the exact moment Skov's pill starts its miraculous work because his head starts translating the music into colors while his body is working through a set of sensations he didn't know he could have. The intense feeling of the sofa's leather surface on his skin, leaning into his hands like a tame kitten. He's pretty sure he has never felt anything like that before.

He opens his eyes again to inspect his hands. (Do they look different? Because they _feel_ different - he knows it's the drug, but he still has to check.) Kavinsky watches him and his smile gets wider.

"How do you like my new creation?" he asks. "I was curious to know what it's like to actually feel something."

"It's fucking dumb," Ronan says. "Ten minutes in, I’ll be walking around touching people's faces because they glow or something."

A laugh shudders through Kavinsky. "That's not what we want, right? I can keep you entertained. Come on, lie down - no, not like this, on your stomach."

Ronan wants to protest but actually has no objection to stretching himself out on this cool sofa-shaped thing. He rubs his cheek on the leather - he'd swear he can almost feel the soft animal it used to be.

What Kavinsky is doing is probably pushing up Ronan’s shirt and doing a line of coke from the tattoo on his back. But that's only a small voice of no importance in the back of his mind. What matters is that Ronan feels a rush of cool air on his skin, the tickling and the tiny tiny movements of the powder on his back, and the scratching of the dollar bill Kavinsky's using sends a pleasant shudder through his body.

Also, Kavinsky's _hands_ accidentally touching his back - no, not accidentally, now he actually traces Ronan’s tattoo with his fingers, this is too much and yet not enough and -

"You can touch _my_ face if you want," Kavinsky whispers into his ear. "Make sure it's not glowing."

He can't take this much longer. It's not like being aroused, it's just - too much. Ronan turns around anyway and Kavinsky is incredibly close, his _face_ is incredibly close, and Ronan’s heart beats twice as fast in a way that probably has nothing to do with alcohol and wonder pills.

Kavinsky doesn't glow, but his eyes are magnificently bright. Reluctantly, Ronan reaches up to brush Kavinsky's cheek. Kavinsky shoves his hand under Ronan’s shirt, his fingernails digging sharp, sharp into the skin, drawing blood - and it makes him believe he's dying in the most beautiful way possible.

 

***

 

"Fuck," Kavinsky hisses and lets go of him. Ronan tries to collect himself, which is hard because the sudden absence of sensation on his skin feels like such a loss.

"Where the fuck is Skov?" Proko calls.

"Probably with Jiang," Kavinsky says, "Why don't you look for him yourself, asshole?"

"I fucking _do_ ," Proko replies.

Ronan’s mind, momentarily undistracted, emerges from the drug haze to register he's still at a goddamn dorm party and the whole school and the rest of Henrietta and probably people from three towns over are here and maybe he shouldn't be caught making out with a boy - especially not with Kavinsky.

"Skov's down at the bar," Ronan informs Proko. Actually, he doesn’t have any idea where Skov has gone, but he wants fucking Proko to go away. Proko nods and turns around, oblivious. Ronan watches him vanish down the hallway and he knows Kavinsky is watching him too. The second he's out of view, Ronan jumps up (his body is so light, he doesn't even know he did it until he's standing) and grabs Kavinsky by his collar.

"Come on, fuckhead," he instructs. Kavinsky smirks and lets himself be dragged up and literally right through the next best doorway, into someone's dorm room.

They have barely closed the door when Kavinsky slams Ronan against the wall, pressing his body against Ronan’s.

"I already wondered when you'd do this," Kavinsky whispers into his neck, then half-kisses, half-bites the spot and Ronan doesn't know whether it's the pain or the pleasure that is making his heart beat _bam, bam, bam_ or maybe it's just the sound they make against the wall when Kavinsky thrusts his body into Ronan’s - no, it's definitely a body/wall sound because Ronan’s heart doesn't beat anymore, he's floating, he's smoke, and he's leaving this reality.

Suddenly he feels very much in his own body again when Kavinsky moves his hands between Ronan’s legs and starts massaging and could this maybe stop being so good - no - don't let it stop. "Don't stop," he breathes.

"I have no intention to," Kavinsky purrs back in a low voice - who knew he could fucking _purr_ \- and as he unbuttons Ronan’s jeans, he casually informs him, "You have about five minutes until your high is over."

It doesn't take Ronan five minutes, not with the vodka and the drugs and Kavinsky's hand in his jeans.

Still panting, he grabs for Kavinsky's shirt, trying to drag him close for a real kiss, not just some bite-snog on his neck, but Kavinsky gives a hollow laugh and steps back.

This is the moment the pill stops working.

It's more like a breath leaving him, a cloud of happiness that just vaporizes in the distance between him and Kavinsky. Ronan’s legs suddenly feel abnormally weak and, with his back still leaning against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor. The euphoria from moments ago is fading quickly.

"I’m leaving." Kavinsky takes off his shirt to wipe his hands on it, then carelessly throws it next to Ronan’s feet. Ronan could swear Kavinsky's hands are shaking, but maybe it's _him_ who's shaking.

"See you around."

Ronan doesn't answer. This is not happening, right?

Except it is, and the door clicks shut behind Kavinsky and that's when misery truly hits. The floor feels like the floor again and his hands like his hands. It's utterly bland compared to the firework of sensations he experienced this night. Instead of making him invincible, the alcohol now just makes him sick, and he gets to the bathroom just in time.

***

Rinsing his mouth and splashing water into his face, Ronan feels like a deflated balloon, and all the sharp thorns are picking at him again, and he's sad and alone and he had hoped - he had hoped - he doesn't know _what_ he had hoped.

His mirror self looks just as exhausted and down as he feels, weak and pathetic. Anger hits with familiar force and before he knows what he's doing, he smashes his fist into the mirror.

At first he just stares at the broken tiles now littering the sink and the floor and it's impossible to tell which ones are smeared with blood and which ones are just reflecting it. Then the pain sets in. It's sharp and soothing, lets him focus and regain control, shove away his feelings. He realizes he wants to go home, except he'll have to make a trip to the hospital first. So he washes away the blood and most of the shards from his hand and wraps it in one of the towels lying around. It won't stop the bleeding for long, but it should be enough for now.

As he picks his phone out of the pocket of his jeans to call a cab, the screen blinks at him, "3 MISSED CALLS. 7 NEW MESSAGES."

They’re all from Gansey. A warm feeling floats through Ronan’s stomach and he decides to call Gansey instead.

"Ronan! Are you okay?" Gansey picks up on the second ring, sounding worried, probably because Ronan never calls.

"I don't know," Ronan confesses. "Could you pick me up?"

As he speaks he knows he sounds too tired and too honest and too open, so Gansey doesn't even hesitate to answer, "Aglionby entrance? I’ll be there in ten." And it’s weird that Gansey knows exactly where he is since he hasn’t said anything.

Before Ronan leaves the dorm, he picks up Kavinsky's shirt and throws it into the trash so he won't get any ideas. Then he makes his way outside. He doesn't see Kavinsky, or Skov, or anyone else of his pack, and everyone is too wasted to pay him any attention.

The sound of the Camaro has never triggered such a feeling in him. It's familiar and comforting and even though the car lets him down sometimes, Gansey never does.

"You're such an idiot," Adam says cordially and shifts the passenger seat to let Ronan climb into the back. "What the hell did you do?"

"Don't fucking ask," Ronan growls. He's in the process of stretching out in the backseat when he notices that Blue occupies part of it with her tiny midget frame - which he just accepts, because he's too tired right now to wonder why Adam and Blue came along.

"Must've been one hell of a party," she comments, pointing at his towel-covered hand. Ronan shrugs.

"Hey, Gansey. Thanks for picking me up."

"We're taking you straight to the shrink," Gansey says. "Why are you thanking me? I’m not used to that."

"Shut up. Actually, drop me off at the hospital." Ronan half-slumps in his seat when Blue's small, strong hands pull at his arm and make him lie down, his head in her lap.

"Better this way?"

He gives her a grim look but doesn’t move away, and as Gansey hits the gas pedal he closes his eyes.

Adam is humming along to a catchy pop song on the radio. Gansey tells them how they should buy a glitter snow globe for Noah. Blue is stroking his short hair and he lets her because it’s dark and no one will know.

This feels like home. Maybe he should have stayed in and played board games with these weird, lovely people. Maybe he’s weird and lovely too.

Because sometimes, the best place to figure out who you are is someone else's house.

 

***

 

_3 MISSED CALLS_

9.57 PM, **GANSEY**

10.01 PM, **GANSEY**

11.28 PM, **GANSEY**

 

_7 NEW MESSAGES_

**GANSEY.** (10.03 PM) _this iS NOT GANSEY we dscussed this for 0.5 hour already b4 we decided to txt you SO. do u have 2 remove half ur cards when u play a knight card in settlers?? gansey acts like this is monopoly. xoxo bLUE_

**GANSEY.** (10.03 PM) _Actually, it IS very much like Monopoly. - Gansey_

**GANSEY.** (10.15 PM) _or dont answr thats cwl too_

**GANSEY.** (10.38 PM) _we looked it up on wikipedia & it says u dont have 2 but?? adam says gansey edits glendwr articles all th time we cant trust it we STILL NEED UR HELP_

**GANSEY.** (10.50 PM) _How do you make Chainsaw give back the houses she stole? - Gansey_

**GANSEY.** (10.54 PM) _nvrmind it was noah hes painting them glitter_

**GANSEY.** (11.01 PM) _dnt worry its useless we R playing mario kart now_


End file.
